Decennial Doomsday
by Zephyrme
Summary: Hunger Games AU. Many wars have ravaged Panem, the Capitol being victorious once more. This is the story of the 155th Hunger Games, a Decennial Doomsday, in which a twist was added within the Arena in addition to the removal of mentors for the year. The tributes were all on their own. Rated T because Hunger Games, and a bit of swearing.
1. Teaser

"Now as you all know," President Arthurus Janus said, his 'public appearance' a mere hologram of his great figure, "this is a very special day. It is the twenty fifth anniversary of the end of the Great War of Panem. We have been through 154 years since the first Hunger Games, and no matter how hard it is to believe, all 154 years have been lived through by the still living F.B. Higgybottom, the victor of the VERY FIRST Hunger Games, who is present, now!"

The crowds of Panem watched the virtual blue hologram of Janus disappear into blue cubes before fading away and crossfading into the look of the very first victor of the Hunger Games. President Janus had been a big fan of Higgybottom, and Higgybottom's very long life had made Janus jealous. Janus let the still living victors be. There was no problem with them.

"The old Capitol in the days of President Shockmayor was unsuccessful, enemies of the victors, and the Districts. Now, a few leading rebels joined and tried for a new Panem, or like in President Janus' campaign, 'Fight For a New Panem', with a 'Capitol' N!" The audience laughed at the old man's pun.

He continued. "The Districts would be free! But those 25 years of war changed the Capitol's plan for democracy. The Districts still kept their boiling hate and rage for the Capitol and war broke out yet again! The Districts had their chance and they let it slip out of their grasp. During the final five years, much blood was spilled. Through the great tropical island battles, the skirmishes in the frigid glaciers of the North, in North Bay with its forests and fjord, and finally, in the harsh battles of the deserts."

"The Districts sought something so great that even if they gained it, it would be useless; victory. Although they had gained it, it only turned them monstrous. The Capitol rose out of its ashes, _still_ prevailing. The victory that the Districts sought meant nothing!" The old man ended with a cough and frown.

"Thank you, Mr. Higgybottom," Janus' convincing and peaceful tone said as Higgybottom's hologram crossfaded into Janus once again. "So, the Council has decided that for every tenth anniversary, there will be an extra Decennial Doomsday. Instead of a different twist each time, like the Quarter Quell, Decennial Doomsdays have mandatory rules. Mentors will be absent, for one." Janus smirked.

"There will also be a twist, or an extra challenge in the Arena for the tributes every Decennial Doomsday, which will prove extremely risky, yet rewarding. We will reveal this year's little gimmick later." Janus explained, his hologram flickering several times.

A disappointed groan ran through audience. They were _dying_ to know the secret challenge!

"Our Head Gamemaker, Marcus Thunder, assures all of Panem, that many will be given a taste of nostalgia when they see the new Arena and the twists inside of it. I myself have no idea what Thunder is setting up, but I dare bet that it'll be great!"

A roar of approval and applause went through the audience. Janus' handsome and young face smiled through the hologram.

"You all must be begging to know when the Hunger Games start. You also must be asking yourselves if what I said in my interview for the Etiquette Magazine was true. I recall saying that the Games will begin around a month from now. That's not too long of a wait!"

Another roar went through the audience, their multi-colored outfits bringing extreme contrast into the scene.

Janus then suddenly frowned. "I'm sorry to say that back then, I lied."

A groan went through the audience this time, and a look of pure disappointment was filling the face of each and every Hunger Games lover who was watching their president.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I lied." Janus said. "The Games aren't in a month. They're beginning right now!"

"The reapings begin now!" The Capitolites were astonished in pure delight. But they were slightly disappointed as well. They did not book seats at the outdoor cinema or in the park or pay extra fees to the TV company to watch the reapings! They certainly did not expect anything like this, and they had no preparation.

You can imagine their excitement as the real F.B. Higgybottom and President Janus stepped out of nowhere at all, bringing with them a huge TV.


	2. Reapings

Reapings

* * *

District 1, the district of luxuries. Here, the luxuries of life have been created by the hands of mankind, pulled from beneath the ground by tools. Those tools were made by the Carnegie-Fleming family. Power drills, excavation devices, power shovels. Adele and Samuel Carnegie-Fleming were proud to lead their company. Their large, curly-haired son David, the successor of the booming company, was quite the man of the day. He was looking positively sharp and coldly calm as the reapings began, as they always did. He was obviously the training center's pick this year. As he volunteered calmly, the other pick, a middle class girl called Ginger Midton, shouted out the words with confidence and excitement. "I volunteer!"

* * *

District 2, the district of masonry. This District was much more different than the others. The reaping was always quick and quiet. The training center was much more disciplined than 1, 4, or even the silent but strong Council of 13. All of those Districts trained their young, prepared them for the games. The weak were respected in 2. They had a use. They would be protected by the great warriors and mine for the Capitol. In two minutes, two random children were reaped, the names that were pulled out of the bowl meaningless. The warriors, Joseph Ingot and Alexa Polish walked up the stage side-by-side, towering over the others, eyes cold, and expressions confident. This is true strength. This is District 2.

* * *

District 3, the district of technology. The very base of the Capitol's advanced technology, the very roots of the gamemakers' hub. Gadgets, machinery, powerful gizmos with the ability to manipulate, TVs, computers, all that sort of stuff. Geniuses were born here, and every year, two potential geniuses walked out of the district, usually never seeing it again. That was a waste, but nobody would volunteer for their genius comrades, nobody would be willing to take the risk. This time, those two potential geniuses were Volt Blakes and Alyssa Pierce, both as small and ashy-skinned as District 3 kids go. The two, already being close friends, shook hands, both actually thinking they were lucky to have the other.

* * *

District 4, the district of fishing. Seafood is important, and so are boats. Seafood is a top class food, and boats are the highest class of recreation. District 4 did not share this sense of class. District 4 had something they called 'swag'. The gleam of their sun-kissed skin as they jump in the sea. Their laughter and charades played on the beach. These marine humans would have to be sent away, sent to become a Career. Catamaran or Cat Cove and Seth Riggings would be these people sent away, and they were forced to volunteer.

* * *

District 5, the district of power. Power was constantly running out. The world needed it. People needed alternatives, they needed solutions. So the geniuses of 5 banded together and created those alternatives. Walter 'Alt' Titance was named after them, in fact, having a clever little twist in his name. "Melody Latera!" The escort called. Alt stood as the girl walked up to the stage. Standing there, thinking, he did not notice the call of his name from up there, at the doomed spot above. He looked around him startled as he realize what had happened. There would be no other alternative, no getting out. The Games must go on.

* * *

District 6, the district of transportation. Now these guys really knew how to get around. Motorcycles, helicopters, buses, subways, you name it, they got it, except for maybe those fancy marine stuff from 4. But that doesn't matter. Who needs boats? The people of District 6 could practically master any means of transportation anyway. It was in their genes. Rev Fikk was a motorcycle repairman and Christina Ford was a car designer. What will happen when they both get in the train, on their way to the Games? Would one of them drive themselves to victory?

* * *

District 7, the district of lumber. People here had no time to be creative. Wood is a huge resource. The Damas' didn't have enough time to name their child, and instead let his older sister (who was 3 by then) name him. Muesli Damas was a lumberjack, and a top class athlete as well. He stood and watched as India Adams, a known maple farmer, was reaped. She probably had thousands of names in there for the pancakes she needed to make. Grain rations were expensive. Poor her. In four seconds, Damas had volunteered for Thomas Kindle. District 7 may not have needed athletes, but it sure needed that small piece of hope, that small grain. Or in this case pancakes.

* * *

District 8, the district of textiles. People here were totally creative. Patterns, fashion, and new Capitol trends were on their minds. Young fashion designers were also up and rising, their work being trendy in the Capitol. Boris Thread looked around, not noticing that most of the outfits the other children wore, were of his creation. Calico Moongate, a young fashion designer who designed things based on kitten pelts also stood, waiting. Oh, it was unfortunate. The two fashion designers met each other on stage, readying up for their deaths.

* * *

District 9, the district of grain. These hardworking farmers created the staple and heart of Panem, wheat. What else did wheat make besides bread? Tons of things. Theodore Wheaton stood in front of the podium. "Barley Rhyland!" The escort shouted, as a girl with red hair walked up to the stage. Well she was unlucky. Theo simply watched as his little brother jerked to the side a little, worried. "Phillip Carson!" Theo's brother's best friend walked to the front, and he saw his little brother run up, hoping to volunteer. But Theo couldn't let that happen. Theodore Wheaton made it to the podium before any of them.

* * *

District 10, the district of livestock. Everybody loves meat, besides maybe those vegetarians. Well that's a huge missed steak. None of the Capitolites refused to have meat on their plates. Celine Church stood by the wall of the ruined barn, her dress waving in the wind. She watched as the escort slowly pull the name out and, "Celine Church!" Horror, that's what she felt. So up she went. "Ian Mustang!" Her local butcher grinned and raised a fist as he ran towards the podium, his friends repeating his name. The two of them shook hands, now becoming like the livestock they tended to. This time, they were the Capitol's livestock.

* * *

District 11, the district of agriculture. Plantations were common in the South, and whites were uncommon. Most of the 'colored people' of Panem were moved here during the Capitol's rule before the Dark Days. The Capitol was racist once upon a time, but nobody wanted to move the others out of 11. They were happy there. Umar Rahshan was an example. The child with Indian roots had been picking fruits since the beginning of his walking days, but he was happy. He looked up to where the sly Lisa Belle stood, up at the podium, her name pulled out just seconds ago. Umar watched her as the escort pulled the name. She was unlucky. "Umar Rahshan!" So was he.

* * *

District 12, the district of coal. Such a poor and unwatched district. Why was it unwatched? Poor economy is to blame. Children only work to get the main resource when they are 18, such a terrible lifestyle. People actually go to school, but they aren't as smart as 3 or 5. They lacked money and they also lacked a proper education. What potential could such a poor district have? Mitch Pollach and Lena Ivy would have to be symbols of this poor district called 12, and 12 had to be proud of them. Besides offering up coal and two tributes every year, what could 12 do?

* * *

District 13, the district of previously granite, but now nuclear energy. The history of 13 is so rich and vast, and the people are so full of personality. It is easy to see how they clung on to the Career Pack so easily. The Council of 13 was formed just as 13 joined the Games, the Council creating a training center just like all of the other Career districts. They are strong, but they are disciplined. Ariane Parr and her ex, Carl Rogers, had to show discipline and strength; respectively.

* * *

 **Hello! Thanks for stopping by! As you can see, the story here hasn't grown yet, but I promise you it will soon enough. I've been improving as a writer and I want to escape from the limits that my other piece, 13 Years It's Been, has set for me. Please stay and read!**


	3. Goodbyes

Goodbyes

 **Alyssa 'Amp' Pierce D3F (District 3 Female)**

* * *

Alyssa sat in the chair, swinging her legs as her parents argued over her on whether they should be worried or not. Her many friends had already left to say their goodbyes, and now it was family time. _'Why do they do this?_ ' she thought, her mind spinning. She had gotten through all of this and her parents were _arguing_ of all things. Her father wasn't even from around District 3!

He had met her mother on his first term as a peacekeeper from District 2, and they met. Alyssa had always thought that their love story was so romantic, so cute. Now, she saw them arguing over her. _Her_ of all things. Her mother, always the worried sort, probably just gave up on her. Her father expected more. He thought that she could win. Nobody asked Alyssa's opinion. Instead, Alyssa found herself trying to think about other things. _Why not this room's décor?_

The homely looking room, in fact, the lobby of this strange building was filled with patterns. On chairs, on walls, and even on the stockings that hung over the fireplace next to her. All of them shared one singular theme. Brown and green. The forest. It was done beautifully. Alyssa had never been into a forest before. The only trees she had seen were in the District 3 Park.

Oh, District 3… Her home was so good of a home, yet she hated that. Something that good would be terrible to lose. Why did she have to lose it in the first place?

Alyssa was confused with the world. How did she get reaped? She always thought that she could live a life of ease, just sitting at home and playing her X-Box, waiting for the guy next door to finish his new 'Microsoft update' or whatever magic he had always done with computers. She could tinker with all of the amazing machinery lying around, literally on the streets of District 3. She never expected this to come. And it wasn't even her own fault that these Hunger Games were here in the first place.

" _Alyssa Pierce!"_ The flashback of five minutes ago was oh so clear. The escort's mouth twitching, her gloved hand pulling the small slip out. The slip that somehow contained her name. Alyssa's family wasn't poor, so they wouldn't even dream of applying for tesserae. Alyssa shuddered to think about tesserae. The risk of putting more names in that glass bowl just for that monthly supply of provisions. No. Her mother worked hard enough to keep two kids alive. Yet somehow, out of thousands of slips, one of Alyssa's three slips were picked. The odds were definitely not in her favor. If she had dodged this, she would be joking around with her friends, not caring, not even respecting that one grieving family. Well, now she learned her lesson.

Alyssa looked into the distance. Her friends, where were they? Would they even say goodbye one last time? Even with that tugging, aching, and yet painfully real thought in her head that they would be too sad, too pained, to watch her leave. She remembered looking behind her as she walked to the podium, her friends gaping with disbelief, other girls sighing in relief. The male tribute? Her neighbor, Volt Blakes. Why? Why are the rules like this?

Alyssa always remembered that revenge was not a good thing, except for maybe if somebody injured you in some online game, now then it was okay to get back at them. But, real life wasn't a game, she realized. Games couldn't help her now. Games were an illusion, something to take her life off of the cruelty, the stupidity, the idiocy of… reality. A reality, a high definition game with amazing graphics, but a crappy plot. The tears welled up inside of her dark blue eyes. The very tears she kept in secrecy pushed past the barrier. A tear rolled down her cheek, a salty, bitter tear. The tear that proved that she knew what reality was.

"Alyssa… Amp?" Her father said her formal name, and then her other name. Amp, the name with a story. What's in a name? Alyssa had never thought a name could be so powerful. Amp. A unit of electric current equal to a flow of one coulomb per second. Amp. That was something her father never knew, considering that he was raised and grown in District 2 to become a peacekeeper. Her father, her sweet father, not knowing what an amp was until stupidly bumping into her mother. Her beauty had stunned him. He wasn't shy, at all. He asked her what an amp was. And so, it started, _they_ started, Alyssa came.

Alyssa fingered the necklace around her neck, dusting off the three letters on the wooden pieces she wore. A-M-P. Amp. A measurement, and her initials. Alyssa decided that she didn't want to be Alyssa anymore. Alyssa was cowardly and shy. Alyssa was vulnerable. She was Amp. Amp meant courage.

So on that day, the very day she grieved, embracing her parents, Amp Pierce found a miniscule fraction of her own character; courage.

* * *

 **Boris Thread (D8M)**

* * *

Was this what his father felt, Boris wondered, when the doctor had told him the grave news, the worst news? Was this what his father felt, two days before the worst day, two days before he had given in to pain and left the world? Boris wondered if his father felt this way when Boris had sat on his lap for the last time, so long ago. Boris wondered how his father felt, knowing that death was coming, that a farewell had to be said.

Boris was not afraid of death. He knew that very well. A small fraction of a thought of leaving the world, or even more than a fraction, once flickered in his mind, years ago, when he felt useless, when he felt unneeded, when he felt like he _should_ be dead. That day, years ago as a boy, curling up in the bathroom, tears streaming down his face, his legs pulled up against his face, the tears sliding down it as he took the hose and pulled it around his own small neck… The young Boris was ready. He was ready to fall into the embrace of nothingness.

He had learned over the years. Desperation and despair seeped out of him, greeting him in surprise at times, but he knew they never left him. He kept them in a small corner of his mind, hidden away from all else. He busied himself with plans and ideas, work. He busied himself with socializing with the people he loved; his mother, his friends. And he realized that being ready to die was selfish. He was selfish when he was young; he was ready to leave the people that cared about him, scarring their hearts forever. His mother's heart, already scarred and scratched beyond repair, would receive another wound. His mother, who had coped with losses in her past, who was so upbeat nowadays, would go mad with grief.

But now, Boris' readiness was not in his own hands. He did not choose this path. The Capitol did. Boris was ready, but were his friends ready? Was his mother ready? The Capitol did not care.

Boris sat on the stool, his tall and lanky body forming the letter 'c' over the tabletop. No tears could breach the barrier. Boris couldn't make himself. His mother, sitting on the armchair across from him, fixed his hair and asked him how good of a breakfast he had eaten, and what she should do with all of the unfinished projects he had on his bed. She talked like it was a normal day, like she was calling him when he was at school, when they walked home, when they joked around.

Boris' ultimate rage, hate, annoyance of the Capitol rose and rose, hiding from the small corner it dwelled in. Boris could also be happy. He could be happy that he could meet his father again, he could embrace nothingness. He could embrace eternity. Bah, this was all bipolar, Boris thought. But as he tinkered with the loose thread on the tablecloth, he realized; no, this was reality.

* * *

 **Welcome to my story. Feel free to follow along and plop into the little Universe I'm writing here. So far, looking good. Thanks for coming over, I appreciate it. And whoever you are, please review! It makes me improve as a writer, and I greatly appreciate constructive criticism, so please. By all means, read :D.**


	4. Train Rides

Train Rides

 **Joseph Ingot (D2M)**

* * *

Joe sat on one of those wooden benches in the train station. He leaned forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the train, but it was nowhere in sight. He wished he could prolong this. That train could possibly be taking him to his doom. And from what he learned in school, a lot of things could cause doom.

Joe was District 2 and all, but he knew better. Joe knew he was strong. He had to live up to his District after all. Well, his basketball team, The Milky Way, _did_ easily win most of their games. And he _was_ one of the reasons why they did. So he _should_ be able to win _these_ Games.

Alexa Polish shook her head at her District partner from her bench a foot away. She rolled her eyes as his confused face formed. Joe simply stayed put. He knew not to mess with her. He knew her before, their families _were_ quite close. He once had a _crush_ on her for goodness' sake.

Alexa was also a collector of annoyance. Something always annoyed her, it seemed, and that something was probably him. They went to the same school, their houses weren't too far apart, and they also met every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday at the District 2 Training Center. She was a serious person, but when she got all _loose_ at recess or break time, she was easy to talk to. But if Joe was one of those trainers from the Training Center, he certainly would have _not_ picked Alexa as the female tribute. Sure, she was decent at weapons, but, well… She was always annoyed, like all the time. 24/7.

Joe decided not to think of the horrors Alexa could have brought to the Career Pack and decided to think more about the upcoming basketball tournament.

Basketball was a family sport. Everybody in his family were talented in it. Basketball was something that tied them together, that tied Joe and his friends together. Basketball was a thing that Joe could be disciplined at, unlike his montages during school. Well, that was different.

With an upcoming tournament, Joe _had_ to win the Hunger Games. Surviving meant continuing the tournament. The Milky Way needed their top scorer. Joe _needed_ to win.

SSSSSSSSSSSSRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTT, the sound had startled him so much that he stumbled backward, hitting his head on the brick wall.

Train brakes.

At last, the train arrived. The driver pulling the brakes harder as Joe rubbed his head. Alexa stood up and groaned in boredom, waiting for the train to skid to a stop.

And so, that was the start of Joe's journey to possible victory, or possible doom. Yay, well that was going to be fun. Joe relaxed his shoulders and squinted, putting on his bright red glasses, preparing. He then produced a deflated basketball from his pocket, wondering if there was a chance that somebody on the train had a bicycle pump.

* * *

 **Muesli Damas (D7M)**

* * *

Damas (which is what Muesli preferred to be called by, thank you very much) had a certain friend, who also happened to be a victor. This friend, Will Kindle, had been taught how to chop with the axe later than regular District 7 children, but _he_ managed to win. Damas remembered the tense times when he turned on the TV, screaming to his older sister and asking her if Will had died yet with a pillow at the face as a reply.

His sister was so stupidly angry at times, Damas didn't know why. And why in the world would she name him Muesli in the first place?

Damas stopped thinking about his past and tried to remember the advice Will had given him, just ten minutes ago, during the goodbye session. Will thought that he owed Damas for everything, his victory, his little brother's safety. In fact, Damas volunteered for Will's little brother just a while ago. Damas shook his head.

" _Without a mentor, it'll be difficult at the start. Mentors are everything."_ According to Will, mentors organized sponsor's gifts during the games as well as gave you so many strategies that your brain started to hurt. Damas was glad he didn't have a headache to cope with. He was still wondering why he had volunteered in the first place, after all.

What was it again? Oh yes. Will mentioned that mentors will always try to get you to read the other tributes' strategies. To try to see what they're trying to do in the beginning. To finish them quickly. To end the bad dream forever. Like baseball. He had to read body movements, recurring strategies, and Jonny Pickfoots' bad left eye. Yeah, strategies, those stuff. He quit baseball just because the coach kept telling him to make strategies and whatnot. _Whatever_.

"Are the reapings on TV?" He asked India Adams, who sat on a green and yellow plaid armchair. He plumped down on a couch which was a lot bouncier than he had expected. India looked at him… for a second too long… two seconds too long... Now three... Awkward… India suddenly blushed and developed an interest in the mahogany table she stood next to.

"Um, I guess…" India said as she tossed the remote to Damas. The throw was lousy, it flew too far to the right of him, but he lunged and caught it anyway, gazing at it.

Damas scanned the bottom of the remote. Will had always mentioned that Capitol remotes had a special Hunger Games button that lead straight to the channel… Ah, there it was. Damas pushed the Hunger Games symbol, as India stood up and walked past him, towards the dining area.

She returned seconds later, with platefuls of strange Capitol food. "Who cares about rules here?" She asked him, a smile growing on her face innocently. Damas had never noticed that kinda-cute smile on her face.

"There are none," Damas replied, and finished, "yet." Damas took a bite of some strange casserole-like thing. He flinched. What was this?! It was sweet, yes, but too sweet. What types of sugar did they use? And was this strange golden sauce really maple syrup? Damas licked it. He cringed. Way too sweet. Oh well.

"I know the pain. I sweeten maple sauce for the Capitol. This might just be some I sweetened the other day. I thought it was for some rich Capitolites, because they love all of this stuff, but it somehow got back to us." India explained, smiling apologetically.

"Ah, never mind. This stuff makes me sick. I'd kill for a bite of your old pancakes," Damas said, placing his plate on the short table in front of the TV, which played the reaping of District 3, a poor, weak looking boy with glasses speechlessly being reaped. "They're worth saving."

India replied with, "Oh, and _I'm_ not?" The two of them laughed, amidst the noise of the television. This was something Damas could get used to.

* * *

 **Lisa Belle (D11F)**

* * *

Eh. Ma, Gewd. Lisa Belle simply sat there, sitting in disbelief. When she was reaped, she didn't cry, like those kids she saw every year. She just sat there, in disbelief. Yo peacekeepers! What happened here? Wasn't it supposed to be _peace_? Oh! So they supposed that people taking their rightful food was worth time for an execution, when 25 kids dying every year was worth claps and cheers? Well, _they_ were geniuses. They deserved _something_ for their admirably high IQ.

Never taking tesserae, Lisa had thought that it was odd that she was reaped. Only a few slips inside a bowl full of thousands. Because of 'odds', she would be facing teens. Teens, even those who were twice her size. Some of them even had years of experience. It was illegal to train for the Hunger Games, yet the Capitol loved strong tributes. So, those four illegal, cheating districts (1, 2, 4, and 13) got lucky. _Oh yes!_ Lisa had forgotten that somehow diamonds, rocks, seafood, and even nuclear weaponry was _SO_ much more important than agriculture! Good job, Capitol! Must've been some sort of _genius_ Capitol logic, she supposed.

She tried to find comfort from her District partner, Umar. Punching his nose would feel very relaxing. Well, _that_ could let out a little annoyance, maybe. Unfortunately, she didn't even know where the tiny dude disappeared to. Probably out crying or something, she thought, or gorging on another full groosling leg.

Groosling were mutts genetically created by District 10. They were genetically made to somehow produce meat as tantalizingly delicious as actual mammals, yet still be able to lay eggs as fresh and good as chickens. Groosling had some sort of pizzazz or whatever inside of it. Something that distracted people from their worries. Like a drug!

Lisa really needed something like a drug. Her ecstasy; gone. Her parents, her friends; gone, from her life at least. And she was dead to them now. They would probably be mourning at home already, setting up a funeral. Her own life; gone. Zip, zero, no more. Just like those wild groosling she was forced to kill at the plantation every day.

Maybe this was all just a mistake. Lisa searched for hope in the stupid corner of her mind, which was trying to convince her that this _was_ all just a mistake, that the Capitol would just say, "Oops! Sorry!" And reverse everything. She knew it wasn't really something to hang on, but hey! It was something. Something that was even higher than the IQ of peacekeepers.

She decided to focus on other things, like she usually did when annoyance took over. The food was good, of course. She had never eaten a full loaf of bread in one go before, but this one was all filled with raisins and that sort of crap, and it was warm. Now that was awesome.

The train suddenly whooshed and passed a building, then another one. What? They had been on the train for around twenty or so minutes, and they were already here? Lisa scooted towards the window, on the dining room long-chair. Yep, those snow-capped mountains in the distance were real, too. The road was also no longer bumpy. The train slid along smoothly, passing the strange architecture of the Capitol. So futuristic. So unlike the primitive huts of the impoverished District 11. Lisa took out her notebook and began describing them. Well, that was a piece of memory.

There were people out there, as well. They waved and shouted things. The people didn't wear clothing as strange as the clothing of the Capitolites she saw on TV all of the time. These people must have lived on the outskirts. These were 'poor' Capitolites. And yet, they were twenty times richer than her own family. Lisa saw a little girl wave at her, looking so happy and innocent. The girl didn't know that Lisa would practically be facing death soon. The Hunger Games was definitely not on Lisa's bucket list. Capitolites' entertainment was so weird.

Instead of dwelling on her own problems, Lisa decided to cross her arms and slump in the long-chair, her notebook and the various drawing media from the train lying haphazardly on the table. Maybe it was time to do something, to use that brain of hers. So, she decided to plan.

* * *

 **So what do you think about the 5 characters I've showcased so far? Which of them do you think is the strongest? Which of them do you like best so far? And the other tributes? Don't worry, they'll all get POV's at least once. In due time...  
**


	5. Chariot Preparation

Chariot Ride Preparation

Lena Ivy (D12F)

* * *

Lena looked ahead. Was this the place she should go to? Her slanty-eyed, Asian, District partner was gone. Yep, Mitch Pollach was nowhere to be seen.

The whole train station seemed a little bit deserted, a little too suddenly. Maybe she should go back into the train and wait there. Maybe Mitch was still there, confused and idle as always. Why did she even leave the train?

Lena turned around to face the train, a dark landscape behind it, with sudden chills running up her neck. So Lena ran like she was being chased by a disaster instead of running straight into it.

And she literally did run straight into it. Lena bumped into a strange man in a bowler hat and a huge button-up trench coat. His face was covered by the coat so much that only one eye was uncovered. The man bore heavy black shades, and he was twice as tall as Lena. His way of standing even radiated an odd feeling of disaster. What a debacle…

"I'm sorry." Lena said as calmly as she could. The man simply shook his head and raised his arm.

A few shivers ran down Lena's neck. Her heart pounded faster, sweat dripping down her forehead. A bolt of lightning shot somewhere behind the man.

The man's scarf flew in the wind, thread unraveling, as the hand went higher and higher!

Suddenly, CRACK! The thunder that followed the lightning arrived, so loud that Lena shuddered. Thoughts ran through her head as the man stared down at her.

The raised hand rocketed downwards. Lena blacked out.

Lena woke up screaming. What was that? She looked around. This certainly wasn't that abandoned train station.

The room she was in had metallic walls, shimmering in a strange way that was so foreign to District 12. She then realized that an odd helmet was fixed onto her head. What was even more striking was that she was lying there bare, with only a thin towel wrapped around the bottom part of her body. She shrieked and pulled the towel up over her chest, only to realize that the towel was only that short.

Even more striking was the fact that three people hovered around her, fixing her eyebrows, the large amount of hair on her body, everything. Why was she here now? Was there something she needed to remember? Lena had a terrible memory.

"What!?" She asked, her head spinning even more. Lena didn't like it when this happened. She had to let out that stressed feeling in her head somehow, and usually she screamed to let that out. She didn't want to now, but it felt oh so appropriate to just scream.

Before she could, however, somebody answered for her. This person was a strange Capitolite man, without very many striking Capitolite fashion features; just an overly large moustache, drooping down and almost touching the ground. He had just entered the room. "We put you under a virtual sleep test the head gamemaker wanted to try out. He asked us. It's a bit hush-hush, but it's got nothing to do with the arena."

And before Lena could ask who these people were, another person answered, this time it was one of the women hovering around her, now fixing her fingernails. Lena then wondered whether or not fingernails had something to do with reading one's mind.

"We're your prep team. _We_ can help you look fabulous. Being asleep helped. You would've screamed if you actually felt us rip off that hideous body hair."

The man with the huge moustache extended his arm again. Well he was fond of handshakes, "I'm Octavian, your main stylist. Let's get you done before I show you your parade outfit."

* * *

Carl Rogers (D13M)

* * *

The only thing Carl remembered when he lumbered out of the stylist area was when he entered it. Oh, and something about free shots of tequila and… He didn't remember. He didn't even know how he even got into the strange outfit he wore.

"What the heck?" He said to himself, "Where the hell am I?" Apparently he was outside, exposed to the blue sky, which was fairly cloudy, the sun mid-low, or mid-high. Carl didn't remember.

"You were drunk. Naughty, naughty."

Carl groaned inwardly. _Her_. His ex, Ariane Parr. Even though he had seen her every day, she was still as annoying as hell. Well, not _all_ the time. She was fun most of the time, she had the same interests as he did, but she was still annoying.

"What are you doing here, Ari?" Carl asked, trying to take in his surroundings which seemed to get more and more confusing the more he looked around. His head was spinning. It reminded him of the first time he took a shot of vodka in Kindergarten. It also reminded him of the first time he actually thought about the philosophy of religion. Well, that was why he was agnostic now, wasn't it? Oh goodness, out of topic again. "So? What are we doing again?"

"I'm not telling." Ariane replied quickly, in an obnoxious tone. Carl could finally make out where she was sitting. Ariane sat on top of a bench on some sort of platform about a foot high. She slid off and hit the ground. She then turned around and walked.

"Aww, come on." Carl said as Ariane simply walked away, "Aww, you're not fun!"

Ariane turned around and said, "Fun isn't everything, Carl." She chuckled.

"That's what I hate about those law-abiding crapheads. They're effing prejudiced. Prejudiced to those people who just wanna have fun!" Carl's voice rose, but he stopped and looked around. Where was he? He couldn't make out those shapes…

"Your version of fun isn't only dangerous, Carl, it's annoyingly loud," Ariane paused and added, "Like you." Carl then decided that he was still somewhere in class.

"Well, since we're down here in class, and there's nobody here, I can do whatever I want to." He then began a colorful stream of insults towards nobody in particular. Ariane shook her head.

"Being drunk doesn't mean that we're in class, Carl. We're in the Capitol, remember." Everything dawned on him. Oh, yeah. Sure. The Capitol. He remembered the stylists and the shots of tequila they offered. Huh. Well that was weird.

"And you're in front of the other tributes." Somebody added. Carl frowned. He squinted. Oh, yes. Chariot rides! He had forgotten. The person who added that was right behind him. Carl leaned his head back and looked up, astonished to see somebody's face.

"What? Am I scary?" Joe Ingot asked, raising his eyebrows as he crossed his arms, looking down at the smaller boy. Carl felt a joke rise to his brain.

"No! Your face is so ugly that I flinched in surprise." Carl laughed shallowly and the edges of Joe's mouth rose ever so slightly. The taller boy smacked Carl's back. Even though it wasn't even hard, Carl groaned in 'pain'. Overreacting was so fun these days.

"It seems like we're allies now," Joe said, "Which is good because I wouldn't wanna be your enemy anyway."

"What? Am I scary?" Carl imitated Joe.

"No! Your body is so small and lacks so much hygiene that you're way too weak for me to attack! I have a sense of compassion, you know!" Joe replied. Carl laughed and tried smacking Joe on the back, but failed and slipped, falling over and landing on the boy from 1.

"Hey, hey, hey! What's going on? Stop it, calm down!" David Carnegie-Fleming said, accidentally spitting on Carl, a large stream landing on his face. It took three full seconds before Carl reacted. He wiped it off and rubbed it on Joe.

"What the heck?!" Joe exclaimed in protest as his hand raised and smacked Carl on the back again. Carl rolled over on the ground.

"Ah! What was that for?" Carl shouted, raising his hand once more. Joe snorted in amusement as he pulled Carl's arms down. Carl shook his head. This was a perfect 'alliance'.

Carl did another scan of his surroundings. Maybe there were other potential allies out there. He would know. The boy from District 7 had muscles, but he looked as short as he did, which wasn't a good sign of strength. The boy from 5 was throwing things randomly, while talking to the boy from 3. One of them might be good. Dayem! Smart kids from 3 or 5 were badass.

Carl walked towards them. However, they seemed to be busy. The kid from 3 stood up, his face furious, and pushed the boy from 5 as he marched off angrily.

The boy from 5 rubbed his head. "Oh, hey Carl. What's up?" This kid knew him? Wasn't this that dude who knew all about the Capitol? He talked to _someone_ when he was drunk, didn't he? District 5… Walter! Yes, Walt, or something like that.

"Hello… Walt, wasn't it?" Carl asked, "The kid that's been to the Capitol once already, right?"

"It's Alt," he replied, "and no, I just know their culture." Before Carl could say anything else, Alt said, "No, I'm not going to accept your alliance invitation. But if you want someone smart, look to Theodore Wheaton." Carl looked towards the Wheaton boy, who was tall and bucktoothed, scratching the back of his neck.

Carl vaguely recalled talking to him while drunk, and that was a bad sign. Recalling talking to someone while drunk meant he either did something bad or he _learned_ something. Carl disliked _learning_.

"Nah," Carl said, "I think I'll just stick with my crew."

* * *

 **Well that's that. Please review and read! It means a lot to me.  
**


	6. The Chariot Ride

Xerxes Flickerman sat in his chair, with Cassius Templesmith in a chair merely a foot to the left of him. The cameras in front of them flashed on. The Flickermen and the Templesmiths were close families, and they both had the talent of public speaking running through their genetic coding. The Flickermen were generally friendly, but very manipulative. Watch your words around them, because they're like truth potions. The Templesmiths had booming voices, superior and large, although they may be short. The two of them flashed a smile, as Xerxes fixed his golden dyed hair. His father, Caesar, also had a habit of dying his hair.

Behind those cameras that filmed them, however, was a totally different sight. The floating platform they were in levitated over the Capitol's many crowds, who were all standing on their seats, waiting to get a look at this year's new tributes. Xerxes craned his neck to get a better look.

"Ho-ho! There comes the tributes from District 1!" Cassius boomed, "They're coming in on their horses!"

"And what is this?!" Xerxes exclaimed as they came in, wearing diamonds everywhere, even carrying diamond weapons! Ooh! Light shone and refracted everywhere, rainbow in color, gleaming on the Capitolites' jewelry.

"DISTRICT TWO!" Xerxes bellowed as he jumped out of his seat, accidentally knocking Cassius off of his seat, his strange hair bouncing up and down. It was not hard to tell why Xerxes was so excited.

The tributes of two wore some sort of holographic outfit that made it seem like they were fresh out of war. Spartans coming out of Persian territory. Joe carried a bloody sword, while Alexa's whole quiver of arrows seemed to be recycled or taken from the bloody ground. What was ironic was that Xerxes is a Persian name. The crowd shouted out in cheers as District 2 passed by like war heroes.

As Xerxes pulled Cassius back up, the tributes of 3 rode in, their horses in… was that armor? And were those horses unicorns, or were they pegasi? DRAGON-HORSES? Some sort of holographic design was changing the horses, and the chariot riders. Video games. This was all on video games. The gamer Capitolites cheered as they recognized characters they had played as, slayed, and allied with in their favorite games, courtesy of the geniuses at 3. A roar of approval came from one block of the capitol.

"Oh, and look at the pair from 4!" Cassius shouted as Xerxes sneezed into his handkerchief. The horses were both brown, resembling wood, resembling a Trojan horse. Cat and Seth stood on their chariot-boat… thing, both wearing the clothes of Greek soldiers ready to invade Troy. A cheer erupted from the crowd.

District 5 followed very shortly. The two tributes, like several other tributes before them, had war-themed outfits. They wore the outfits of factory bomb workers, oil soaked and ashy. Their pockets were filled with matches, which spilled out, scraped against the ground, and were set alight, causing some explosions and smoke. "Looks like the pair from 5 are walking fireworks!"

"All of these tributes seem to have just come out of some war!" Xerxes said excitedly, as the mid-low Sun dipped behind the mountains in the distance. District 6 did not disappoint. The horses, which seemed to be on humongous roller-skates, were pulling Rev and Christina, who wore a helmet and aviator jacket, as well as a parachute, which seemed to be up in the sky, hoisted by some strange air vents inside of their chariot.

District 7 rolled in on a catapult, pulled by three strong horses instead of two. "And… We've got a shot!" Xerxes exclaimed.

"Yes, indeed. District 7 seems to be shooting wooden flakes forwards," said Cassius, as Damas and India pulled down the catapult's chain again.

District 8 boasted some strange textile patterns meant to be for camouflage during a guerilla war. The girl's was much more radiant than her partner, who seemed to have a smug smile at the moment. Unknowingly, his stylist gazed from the audience, thinking how awesome the boy actually was. "Just look at that camouflage!"

"What? Where? I can't see it!" Flickerman joked as a reply, laughing afterwards as the tributes from District 1 reached the inner circle, and District 9 and 10 pulled in. Both of the districts looked like cooks from the army, for grain and for meat respectively. Some strange slosh covered their aprons. "Makes me a bit hungry." Xerxes commented.

The two tributes from District 11 appeared as some natives for a guerilla warfare attack, both holding reed blowguns that shot cherries out of them.

District 12 pulled in, their outfits appearing to be cannon handlers. A cannon sat in the middle of their chariot, gunpowder and coal all over the ground, ready to be set ablaze. The cannon's fuse was shortening and shortening…

Meanwhile, the final District, District 13 paraded into the line, their x-ray suits creating some sort of animation of the deterioration of a person's skeleton. The District 12 cannon blasted as Xerxes shouted, "These are the tributes for the 155th Annual Hunger Games!"

* * *

 **Sorry for the short chapter, but as usual, the chariot rides are kinda boring. Ah well. Just you wait for tomorrow's chapters. Yup, I'm uploading two tomorrow.**

 **I've also taken the liberty of making a poll for favorite tributes on my profile. It won't be very accurate, of course, if you do it now, because you haven't seen every character's point of view yet. I promise you, everybody will get at least one before the Games.**

 **And as always, please review!**


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